


tea and sympathy

by atamascolily



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Dark, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Health Issues, POV Second Person, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29718078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atamascolily/pseuds/atamascolily
Summary: An invitation to visit the Dress-Up Witch means you will never be lonely again.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	tea and sympathy

You're walking home from work, minding your own business, when you spy an envelope dangling from a yellow ribbon in front of you. It hangs at eye level right in your path, but no one in the crowd around you pays any attention to it. It's as if they don't notice it at all.

Whatever this is, it's intended for you--your name is written in an elegant flowing script across the front that twists and distorts as you examine it. Curious, you ease open the blob of yellow sealing wax with the imprint of a five-petaled flower and pull out a folded card on crisp and expensive stationary, bedecked with an elaborate series of golden runes whose meaning you cannot decipher.

You cannot read what's inside but you don't have to. It's an invitation to tea, at a place you've never heard of and don't recognize, signed with runes you cannot decipher, yet you recognize as the mark of a beloved friend. You have never met before, yet there is no question that you will come at once.

There is no address, but you don't need one. Yellow ribbons stretch from here up to the powerlines, snake through the tangle of wires and streetlights, and twist over buildings and trees, marking the way forward. Clutching the invitation tightly in your fists, you follow with renewed purpose, vibrating with anticipation to visit your friend.

You are so preoccupied with your new direction that you barely notice the five-petaled flower tattoo blossoming on your hand where the letter touches your skin. The paper bursts into flames but there is no pain, and you gaze with detached curiosity at the fading conflagration before continuing on your way.

You can't remember what you were thinking before the invitation arrived and changed everything. Maybe you believed life was pointless, and it would be better to die, that nothing you did mattered. But now you know better. Now there's one bright spot gleaming in the sea of darkness, and the ribbons are guiding you right to it.

She's waiting for you.

The trail leads to a ramshackle Victorian mansion straight out of a storybook--and wildly out of keeping with the rest of the neighborhood--surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. The gates swing open as you approach, and you pick your way across the lawn to the wrap-around porch with its garishly colored facade and knock on the front door.

As if on cue, the door swings open and two girls step forward, every movement in unison. They are dressed in matching yellow waitress uniforms complete with frilly aprons, short skirts, and candy striped tights. Both sport identical golden beehive hairdos with long bangs that dangle over their faces and completely obscure their eyes. They smile at you in welcome, showing their blindingly white teeth as they gesture you inside with high-pitched screeches that require no translation: You are a valued guest, who bears the mark of their mistress and they are all too happy to be your escort.

They lead you to a child's bedroom with toys and stuffed animals scattered everywhere across the crazy-quilt patchwork floor. They seat you at a table in the corner with an elaborate tea service already laid out for you.

Your host waits there: a tiny doll in an electric blue frock, candy striped stockings, and a bright yellow bonnet with magenta price tag trailing behind it. Her face is a five-petaled flower; her arms and legs are ribbons tucked and distorted into a vaguely human configuration.

None of this alarms you, of course. You have never seen her before, and yet you are dear friends. You have come home at last to the one place you have always wanted to be, the only place in this world you truly belong. 

Your host doesn't speak in words, but you understand what she means perfectly and you talk enough for the two of you. Crumbs fall out of your mouth as you devour your cake without a care for manners or propriety as you babble and snort at her antics. You play silly games and laugh uproariously at each others' jokes--all the things that friends do, for you are best friends now and always have been.

Her servants bring out outfits from a nearby wardrobe and you try them on, dressing up in frills and laces and toss them aside as they bore you. You slip on a top hat and suit-coat and exchange them for a skirt and bonnet, and then back again when you grow bored and change your mind. This party is the best idea you've ever had--the only thing that matters--so much fun, you hope it never stops.

Your host nods when you say this out loud, and offers you some more tea. You drink the tea she pours and the sweets she offers. No matter how much you consume, you are never sated, and the servants will always bring you more, and the table sags from the abundance.

As you bring the cup to your lips once more, however, you remember you haven't always been here. You remember your name, which you had completely forgotten, and the life you left behind. You remember where home is, and it's not this place. You put the cup down, start to make your excuses and take your leave--

Ribbons tangle your wrists, bind you to your chair. You've hurt your host's feelings, you realize, and you beg her pardon, which she graciously accepts. You sway in your seat, clutching your head in your hands as your host offers you another helping of cake. Why would you leave? Why would you ever want to leave? There's nothing out there better than what you already have.

You tell your host everything about yourself, words pouring out in a torrent in an attempt to satisfy her inexhaustible. insatiable need to know everything about you. She wants to hear everything, like no one ever has, drown you in her sympathy and love. She wants to play forever. She wants--

\-- _Everything_.

It's more than a fair trade, you think dizzily, nodding in agreement. After all, you will never be lonely again now that you're here.

You will never _be_ again, but as the darkness closes over your head, it's impossible to care.


End file.
